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From: bradley_stoke@hotmail.com (Bradley Stoke)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 3 Apr 2002 14:05:26 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} {ASSTR} The Fix
Date: Wed,  3 Apr 2002 16:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Story: The Fix

Summary: A tale of insatiable hunger and the need 
to try and satisfy it. 


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www
           (mirror: http://bradley-stoke.fsn.net)

The Fix
=======

The light from the street lamps shone on the dark puddles 
on the damp pavement. A fine drizzle continued to fall, 
dampening Martin's spectacles as he strode along the 
forbidding streets. It wasn't really the night for a stroll. 
And this wasn't a part of town where a man would be 
wandering for the sights or the restful ambience. But 
Martin was a man on a mission. And this was the best part 
of town to be. 

He wasn't alone. Resting by lamp posts, or in the 
doorways of shuttered shops, or in the shadow of hedges, 
could be seen the occasional silhouette of women, dressed 
provocatively, frequently smoking, and eyeing him with 
rather less reserve than that which he eyed them. Martin 
shivered. Did he have to? he wondered. But then, of 
course, why else would anyone choose to come out to this 
part of town?

In the nearly fifty years of his life, the usual 
pleasures of marriage or children had somehow eluded 
him. He had tried. God! He'd tried! But it just hadn't been 
his destiny. Women just didn't take to him somehow. And 
the chances were getting fewer, as his hair thinned, his 
paunch grew larger and his future shrank ahead of him. 
And it wasn't just romance that had eluded him. In 
everything he did, he knew that he had under-achieved. He 
wasn't one of life's winners. He'd never got the 
promotions he'd wanted. At least not until so late it was a 
recognition of his seniority and patience than any native 
ability. Time and time again, he'd seen younger men 
leapfrog ahead of him. For them advancement, romance, 
marriage and respect just came naturally.

But not to him. He had no exciting past to reflect 
on, no youthful excesses to regret, nothing in his life 
which he could positively identify as an achievement for 
which he could be the envy of others. But he was a man. 
And he had needs the same as any other man. And if they 
weren't to come to him effortlessly through the exercise of 
his charm and personality, then they would have to come 
to him the only other way. And that was by the exchange 
of dollars and cents.

Prostitutes had become his release. In fact, they 
almost become his chief hobby. The main source of 
pleasure in his life. Something he would plan in advance 
and savour the prospect. Something to reflect on after the 
event and inevitably about which to feel some degree of 
shame. But always something ultimately more satisfying 
and more exciting than downloading images off the 
Internet, poring through glossy magazines or watching 
women in improbable ecstasy on DVDs. The feel of real 
warm flesh against his own skin, his penis tugged and 
pulled and sucked, and then sometimes the pleasure of 
penetration (always a little more expensive and that much 
more to be cherished) as his prick was eased into the 
condom the girls always thoughtfully supplied and then 
into the warm liquid embrace of the two fleshy lower lips. 
He only regretted that he so rarely tasted the lips on the 
girls' mouths. But that was an intimacy they always denied 
him.

Martin strode along, his eyes darting nervously 
about as he evaluated the women on display. Part of him 
actually felt quite sorry for the girls. It couldn't be much 
fun for them to be standing around in the evening drizzle, 
waiting for cars to slow down and pick them up. And they 
really weren't dressed for the weather. The skirts were so 
very short, the tops just so very brief, the heels so tottering 
and precipitous. And the faces. Sometimes so thick with 
make-up that it was difficult to imagine what the actual 
features underneath might be like.

And then Martin saw her. And he felt a slight 
tightening of the throat and a thump in his chest as the 
excitement of encounter came closer. The girl he'd had so 
many times before that he was almost a regular. She 
wasn't the prettiest girl in the world. But none of them 
were really. She was skinny, with large broad feet, and a 
twisted mouth on a face with a sharp chin and a long 
pointed nose. There she was (and of course Martin had no 
idea what she might be called), in her long pale tights, 
smoking her cigarette on the street corner, her heels so 
high that Martin could see right through them to the 
pavement edge.

And then she wasn't there. A dark brown Mondeo 
slowed down, and in a trice she was gone. Martin sighed 
as her tight, if rather fatty, bum disappeared through the 
car door, and the last she saw of her was a glimpse of her 
bleached, tied-back hair through the streaks of drizzle on 
the passenger window. So nearly and yet not nearly 
enough.

Disappointed, Martin paused in his steps. He 
almost felt like abandoning his quest altogether. He 
pushed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and 
continued striding on. He couldn't come this far and just 
turn back. Even though he knew of a nearby bar where he 
could at least drown his sorrows.

"Are you looking for something?" he suddenly 
heard a woman's voice break into his reverie. He turned 
his head to see the dark shadowy figure of a thin woman, 
dressed in black with long unkempt black hair, just by a 
telephone pole.

He smiled more from politeness than anything else. 
"Yes," he heard himself mouth as he looked at her pale 
emaciated face. She didn't look like she'd eaten for a long 
time. She had virtually no fat obscuring her high cheek-
bones and her perpetually startled gaze. "How much?"

The girl hesitated. "Twenty dollars," she 
announced at length.

"For what?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "A fuck," she decided 
noncommittally.

A fuck! That was cheap. What was the catch? He 
studied her face. It was so ill-looking. She must be a 
junky, Martin decided. Out for a fix. She must be 
desperate. But twenty dollars! He couldn't turn down an 
offer like that.

"Yeah! That sounds fine!" he decided. "Where?"

"My place," she said, emerging from the shadows 
in black tights which emphasised the bony knees which 
punctuated her slim legs, and the tiny skirt beneath the 
flimsy high-collared black blouse. She obviously didn't 
feel the cold. "Follow me."

Martin obeyed her command, and followed her 
along some ill-lit lanes toward a large dilapidated 
apartment block, which she entered. His steps followed her 
steps as she ascended the stairs in the flickering bulb-light, 
taking the advantage to examine the girl's strangely old-
fashioned black high-heeled shoes and the bony contours 
of her arse. She finally arrived at a door on whatever floor 
Martin had lost count, opened it with a key and let him in.

Martin had been in girls' flats before, and he was 
used to their spartan functionality. But this one was almost 
too minimal in content. In the single room of the 
apartment there was nothing except a mattress, bare of 
even sheets, on the stained bare dark floor-boards 
illuminated by the inadequate aura of a single low wattage 
light-bulb. Thick dark curtains hid all evidence of the 
street outside.

And they weren't alone. Slumped in the corner, 
staring vacantly in front of her, was another girl, and one, 
despite the chill in the air in an apartment that didn't even 
have the luxury of heating, who wore no clothes at all. 
Fuck! These junkies! They have no standards or decorum 
at all. And like the girl who'd picked him up, she was 
painfully thin and pale. In fact there seemed to be an 
unhealthy blue pallour about her. Her scrawny breasts 
hung on her stomachless chest, and her feet were stretched 
in front of her, not attempting to obscure the long dark 
hairs of her crotch.

There was no ceremony, but that was usual. Martin 
removed his clothes to reveal his paunchy waist, his slim 
arms and legs, and stood in the room in just his socks and 
spectacles. At least there was no mirror by which Martin 
could compare his ageing frame with his fondly held self-
image of a somewhat younger man. With even less 
ceremony, the girl pulled off her own clothes, leaving 
them in a black heap on the bare floorboards. Without her 
clothes, she was exactly like her slumped friend. Pale, thin 
and ill-looking. Her large black eyes shone darkly from 
beneath her brow, not appearing to care about or even 
recognise Martin's existence.

And then she lay down on the bare mattress, 
buttocks sinking into its worn springs, her legs wide open 
and a shocking black crotch which Martin knew was soon 
to be all his. "Now?" he asked uncertainly.

She nodded, with a fixed stare expressing neither 
emotion nor meaning. Not exactly the warmest welcome 
that Martin had ever had. But at twenty dollars. Well, you 
couldn't complain.

He bent his knees down onto the dark-stained 
mattress, feeling the well-worn springs flag under the 
weight of his hairy knees. At least his penis was awake. It 
wasn't always so well-behaved. Sometimes it needed a bit 
of coaxing. Sometimes a lot of coaxing. There were the 
occasions when even after an embarrassed ten minutes of 
fellatio, he'd had to admit defeat, but still be as much out 
of pocket as if it had been fully erect. But today it was 
fully erect, a full five inches of fat, throbbing flesh, its 
glans pushed beyond the confines of the foreskin, ready to 
take possession of the pale girl's cunt.

And then he was on top of her, his hands around 
her white angular shoulders, his chin in her hair and the 
hairs of his chest brushing onto the small empty breasts, 
with their long dark pink nipples. Her skin was so cold. 
Colder than he believed flesh and blood could ever be. The 
drugs these girls take. What do they do to you! He 
carefully eased his penis into the condom he'd brought. 
Uncharacteristically, this girl didn't seem to care for her 
health even in that department. But Martin was cautious. 
He had no intention of catching anything. And he'd heard 
that junkies were the ones most likely to carry all sorts of 
sexually transmitted diseases. Even the dreaded AIDS. 
That was one illness he could do well without.

The condom was all that kept his prick warm as it 
thrust deep into the girl's cunt, who continued to stare 
blankly at the ceiling as he thrust away, not even 
pretending to enjoy his passion. But in a strange way, this 
lack of emotional attachment was quite arousing in him, as 
his fleshy stomach pounded against the girl's sharp hips 
and the hairs of her vagina tangled in the hairs of his groin. 
In. Out. Back. Forth. Push. Push.

And then, unexpectedly, a cold hand on his 
shoulder. He turned round to see that the other girl was 
there, not smiling, but quite clearly with intent. She ran her 
cold fingers down his chest, and then impulsively grabbed 
his prick. She pulled it out of the first girl's cunt, and 
manoeuvred it towards her own. And then, it was inside 
her, as she lay by the side of her friend, who at last came to 
life. The two girls wrapped their arms around each other, 
brushing their heads together, while Martin's bursting 
erect penis transferred its attention inside the second girl's 
cunt, thrusting with an excitement he'd hardly ever 
experienced before. Two girls! And only twenty dollars. 
He didn't care whether he had to pay more. He'd so often 
masturbated over the fantasy of having sex with more than 
one woman at the same time. And now it was happening!

The first girl eased the condom off his erect prick 
and took it between her pale lips, her sharp teeth closing 
gently onto its base, while the other girl nuzzled around 
his neck. Fuck! This was paradise.

And then a sudden sharp pain. And a hiss. What 
the fuck! And a warm liquid on his face. And it wasn't 
semen. He grimaced in horror as he realised that it was 
blood. And his horror sharpened as he realised it was his 
own. And then a sharp agonising pain in his prick as the 
first girl tightened her bite. And it was the horror of seeing 
his penis pulled from his groin and gripped in the long 
fang-like canines of the girl he'd met less than half an hour 
before in the street that caused the blood to rush from his 
face and his consciousness to slip.

In his last few moments, he was vaguely aware of 
two sharp-toothed women, blood streaming from the 
corners of their lips, take chunks of flesh out from his 
stomach, his face, his neck, while what blood wasn't taken 
into their mouths to feed their addiction sprayed onto the 
floor and mattress to join the congealed scabs of previous 
victims.

For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www
           (mirror: http://bradley-stoke.fsn.net)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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